


Lydia's Second Favorite Hale

by FreshBrains



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Light Dom/sub, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitness, in the biological sense, was the ability to survive in the world along with the ability to properly reproduce.  Lydia didn't care so much about the reproduction part if her NuvaRing and 42-pack of strawberry-kiwi condoms had anything to say about it, but the survival part, that’s what she looked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lydia's Second Favorite Hale

**Author's Note:**

> For the Teen Wolf Ladies Week on Tumblr! Wednesday's theme _Women Warriors/Huntresses_. Link to the blog here: http://twladiesweek.tumblr.com/
> 
> **Warning** : This fic contains very brief face-slapping.

Lydia took pride in the fact that she only fucked those who met her exact standards of perfect human fitness.

Or, in other words, winners. Lydia only fucked winners.

Fitness, in the biological sense, was the ability to survive in the world along with the ability to properly reproduce. Lydia didn't care so much about the reproduction part if her NuvaRing and 42-pack of strawberry-kiwi condoms had anything to say about it, but the survival part, that’s what she looked for.

In high school, surviving meant winning.

But by junior year, she realized her standards were way too damn high.

In her small pool of intimates at Beacon Hills high school, _everyone_ was a fucking winner. 

There was Jackson, of course, even though we was off somewhere in Paris or wherever-the-fuck, letting some pretty model writhe on his werewolf peen while wearing a god-awful beret. But the fact that he was able to transplant himself from one country to the next and have gorgeous people hanging all over him while speaking below-basic French made Jackson a winner. And fuck, he looked really decent in that beret.

Scott was winner, too. He even had the brains behind that blank stare and baby pompadour and all that _oh woe is me I’m a true alpha wah wah_ business (Lydia could only remind the boy so much that she’d been a zombie werewolf murder puppet for a few weeks before he simply tuned her out). He was also fast as shit and caught Erica Reyes when she fell off a rock wall, so Scott was a winner, whatever. At least she only made out with him once, because she knew how Allison felt about him, and Allison was the most winning-est winner of them all and Lydia loved her most, so no more making out with Scott.

Stiles was unfortunately also a winner. He barely squeaked by in the survival department in high school but somehow he took on the werewolf world like a champ, dodging in and out of flying claws and fur and that lady alpha’s scary toe-knives, all while giving Derek Hale the _please notice me I love you_ eyes in the most obvious way possible. And Derek Hale totally noticed him, because Lydia saw a hickey the size of Jupiter on Stiles’ neck and it sure as hell didn't come from that poor little blonde girl who got ritually-sacrificed at her birthday party.

And Lydia, an alpha in her own right, wasn't about to fight Derek fucking Hale to get a piece of skinny, mole-speckled high school boy who could never stop quoting _Return of the Jedi_.

Isaac was sort of winner after he got that bad-ass jacket, but Lydia didn't like him because he didn't like her, so all was for naught. Erica was hot but dead. Boyd was sexy but dead. Aiden was adorable but, alas, a murderer, and probably dead soon if Scott had anything to say about it.

There was also the issue of being the girl who randomly screams for no goddamn reason whatsoever. Once is kind of cute, kind of quirky in a Zooey Deschanel way, twice was weird in an Angelina Jolie _Girl Interrupted_ way, but three upwards was just plain creepy. And no one wanted to have sex with the creepy screaming girl. So there went everyone in the high school. She could find some tall, hot college boys, or freshmen if she was desperate, but it seemed like all of her time was suddenly split between finding dead bodies, sleuthing out mysteries with her bestie and Stiles, and sending dagger-stares in Peter Hale’s direction.

(She genuinely enjoyed only two of those activities).

Lydia’s list of viable sexual partners has gone from short to nonexistent and she was only seventeen years old. 

Then something happened.

Cora fucking Hale happened.

*

Her grip was strong. That was the first thing Lydia noticed.

“Let go of me,” she said, but Cora didn't let go. She held Lydia’s gaze, strong but a little bored, like life was always knocking her around but she was used to it. She had a grimace like a little girl but her teeth were still sharp.

Then Stiles came in and played knight in shining armor, which Lydia didn't care for but she appreciated the effort. Cora backed off—Lydia suspected she may have a little crush on Stiles, and if that didn't spell family drama, Lydia didn't know what did.

But weeks later, Cora was there again at the loft with everyone else, a little deflated this time, her eyes dark and her skin sallow.

Lydia was bad with this stuff. She saw Boyd get clawed from the doorway; she saw her fuck-up of an ex-hookup grinning like a little shit the whole time. It made her blood sizzle, she was so angry, because stuff like that should never happen, and it certainly shouldn't ever happen to her friends.

“How are you doing? You know, after…?” Lydia asked cautiously, leaning over a little to speak to Cora.

Cora looked up, her face incredulous. “Fuck _off_ , prom queen, why are you even here?”

Lydia bristled, her feathers rustled. “I’m here because all of my friends are here.”

Cora scoffed. “That’s kind of pathetic.”

Lydia nodded sagely. “It could be worse, I guess.”

Cora raised her eyebrows. “I suppose my creepy uncle could resurrect someone else through your lovely little body.”

Lydia couldn't help but preen, her cheeks pink. “I am lovely, aren't I?”

Cora rolled her eyes again—she had a great eye roll, beautiful really. “You know you are. Especially with your…” she waved her hand absently towards Lydia, “legs and little dresses, and you’re all, like, peachy-colored and shit.”

“This is a nice conversation, let’s keep going,” Lydia said, but Cora glowered.

“Why? You can’t stand us. You get all grossed out whenever you’re near us, like we’ll start licking you or something.”

Lydia shrugged, denying nothing. “Yeah, but you’re probably my second favorite Hale. You should be honored.”

There was the eye-roll again. “Who’s the lucky first?”

“Oh, come on, sweetie. You know Peter is in hard third. I like Derek because he makes Stiles all gooey and pink and funny. Comic relief, you know.”

“Yeah, my brother the comedian,” Cora deadpanned. 

Lydia moved a little closer, experimenting, but Cora just leaned away, giving her the hairy eyeball. “Oh, like you aren't interested?” Lydia huffed. _Everyone_ was interested in her.

“Look, you’re hot as hell, but I can already tell you’re a chore.”

Lydia gasped. “Rude! I am not a chore.”

“You’re a collector. You like trophies, shiny things.”

“So what if I do? I like the best.” Cora was good-looking, and she pulled off a sleeveless Henley flawlessly. Lydia could do far worse.

“Because,” Cora said, pushing up from her chair. She suddenly seemed so tall, even though they were about the same height, and her eyes glowed but just barely. “I’m not a trophy.”

“That’s alright,” Lydia whispered. “I can’t win all the time.”

Cora didn't say anything, but there was a smirk—a definite Hale smirk, the kind of smirk Derek sported when he popped a boner in his too-tight designer werewolf jeans at the way Stiles sucked frosting off his fingers after eating a donut.

Lydia knew right then and there that she was going to fuck Cora Hale, and it was going to be awesome.

*

She didn't realize how awesome it would be until she was stark-naked on her back in the middle of Derek Hale’s bed, her hair fanned across the pillows, with an equally naked Cora crouched over her on all fours.

“Is this what you expected?” Cora asked, leaning down, but not close enough to kiss. They’d kissed dozens of times before—in Stiles’ Jeep while Stiles and Derek fucked in the loft (apparently Derek always got Loft Sex Privileges due to seniority), between classes at school (which Lydia wasn't even sure Cora attended), outside Macy’s while Allison tried on jeans in the dressing room, everywhere except in a bed.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” Lydia gasped, arching up, seeking friction somewhere, _anywhere_ , but she was denied. “I knew you wouldn't just roll over.”

This had quite the effect on Cora. She sat up, resting on Lydia’s hips, her slickness against Lydia’s swollen clit wrenching a whine out of Lydia. Cora’s eyes blazed yellow, but she was calm. “Come up here and give me a kiss.”

Lydia leaned up on her elbows, but to her surprise, Cora gave her a hard push on the shoulders, sending Lydia back down onto the mattress. Lydia gasped in surprise. “Hey, knock it off!”

“Try again,” Cora ground out, her breathing steady but loud.

Lydia leaned up again, her face red, but Cora just pushed her again, solid and lightning-fast. Lydia hit the pillow hard, her hair billowing out around her. “This isn't funny!”

“You’re not trying hard enough,” Cora taunted. “One more time.”

Lydia pushed herself up with every ounce of energy, close enough to Cora to breathe in the scent of her shampoo, but Cora just pushed her again, that Hale smirk wide on her lips.

Before thinking, Lydia lifted her hand and slapped Cora across the face.

Cora’s eyes widened and she gasped, startling at the shock, but Lydia knew she was expecting it. Still, she felt horrible. “Cora, I didn't…I’m so sorry, I never have sex like this…”

“That’s the spirit,” Cora growled, and dipped down for a hard gnashing kiss, the kind that still shocked Lydia. Cora’s hand went to Lydia’s breast and she squeezed her nipple, hard enough to send little jolts of pleasure straight to Lydia’s clit. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

“Fuck me, please,” Lydia breathed, and laughed. God, she only said please when she was really aching for it.

Cora leaned up again, her small breasts bouncing. Lydia wanted to bite her nipples, run her tongue along them, see if Cora was in the one percent of women who could orgasm from nipple stimulation only, but Cora grabbed Lydia’s hips and pulled her down the bed.

“I’d fight for this any day,” Cora growled, breathing in the scent of Lydia’s dripping cunt, and then there was no more speaking and a whole lot more moaning.

“My little warrior,” Lydia trilled, wondering how the hell her life got so fucking weird and so fucking awesome all at the same time.

Oh yeah. Lydia Martin was still a fucking winner.


End file.
